


A Crush of Tomorrows

by Wrenalynn



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Immortal Jaskier, M/M, Reverse Reincarnation AU, Story does shift into Modern day at some point but starts in typical canon timelines, Unreliable Narrator, non-explicit sexual scenes, shifting pov, temporary major character death, ultimate happy ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:34:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29809881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrenalynn/pseuds/Wrenalynn
Summary: People have always been telling Jaskier to stay out of the forest near the high holidays… there are things in the woods that would love to hurt or kidnap him. He never listened to that rot.He would come to regret that choice for what awaited him in the woods was cruelty and an unnatural lifetime of suffering wrapped up in an alluring package.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 14





	1. A New Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my absolute baby.  
> I've been working on this for MONTHS and I have it finally where I want to start posting it.
> 
> It's mostly finished, only missing some middle bits and the proper ending, but not nearly as much of a WIP as some of my poor other works. 
> 
> (I promise lol)
> 
> Title from the song "What Love Can Heartbreak Allow" by Ben Caplan. <3

Spring brought many lovely things to Jaskier’s life. At some point soon, a very grumpy and twitchy white-haired Witcher would pop up in a tavern, and Jaskier would go haring off with him into the great wild. Flowers were blooming everywhere and their sweet scents often incited fits of prose in the young bard.

The air itself felt fertile and ripe with all the promises of the new season, and the days and nights equaled back out again. Jaskier was very thankful for the additional sunshine, especially as he soaked it up whilst lying mostly naked in a lovely ring of soft grass and daisies. Bonus, the way it was shining currently through the trees allowed him a delicious view of the fully naked maiden dozing by his side. It caught on the complex auburn colors of her wavy hair, and the poet in him swore her skin itself sparkled softly. 

He turned onto his side, propped his head on his open palm and leaned slightly towards her to take in more of the sight. She stirred slightly as he reached out and ran the backs of his fingers down her side and striking jade green eyes fluttered open to meet his. Her lips curled into a devastating smile and she rolled slightly to give Jaskier a better view of her body.

“The fair Laurel has awoken,” Jaskier whispered, words husky from sleep and the previous night’s use. “And the rays of the morning sun do you even more justice than the moonbeams had.”

Laurel laughed, a tinkling sound that raised all the hairs on Jaskier’s body and stirred a few other feelings down his spine. “You speak as prettily in the morn as you did in the eve, Sweet Songbird.” She raised herself up on one hand and leaned towards him with intent. Something niggled at the back of his mind, something about the way she sparkled didn’t catch the light the way dew would and that there was something mildly otherworldly in the perfect symmetry of her face. But then her lips touched his, and the thought flitted away to be replaced with all the interesting ways he wanted to use his hands. 

It was only sometime later, as the sun rose yet higher, and his magical redhead sparkled all the brighter as she rode him, that the curiosity crept back into his brain. Laurel swooped down to kiss his neck, and mark his skin. Her lips caressed the shell of his ear as she whispered, “Such a pretty bard, who sings so sweet, one whose eyes should never be a place for crows to rest their feet…”

His belly tightened as she moved her hips, and another tingle entirely started from the base of his spine and traveled in lazy caresses through his belly and up into his chest. The tips of his fingers pressed tighter into her skin as he came to an impressive peak, his hips coming up off the ground as he groaned her name.

She brushed his hair from his face and pressed three kisses to it; one at the corner of each eye and one to the tip of his nose, before claiming his lips again. Jaskier chuckled at the gesture, sinking back into the grass and letting his limbs dissolve into jelly. “Dearest Laurel… you’ve driven the poetry right out of my body. I am at a loss.”

Something in her eyes shifted slightly, the colors seeming to slide from green to orange to green again. “Oh, my love. You’ll never be without your poetry. Just as you will never be without me.”

The tingles that had been swirling idly in his chest caressed his heart and flowed up into his throat. Laurel began to glow in earnest. Jaskier began to panic. 

Where was he? Which woods?

What day was it? When was the equinox?

Who, or rather what, was this enchanting creature he couldn’t even quite remember propositioning?

And as he opened his mouth to protest, a much more pertinent question came to him…

Why couldn’t he talk?

Whatever the woman-fairy-nymph-dryad-magical lady was doing seemed to come to some kind of crescendo and as a wave of light spilled from her and over him, Jaskier was lost to darkness. 

~

The first things that Jaskier noticed were these, in order:

The sun beating down on him from its zenith.

A deep ache in all his bones.

The feel of soft moss against his bare arse.

And a deeply unsettling stinging sensation in his right wrist. 

He came awake with a shout, sitting up and almost immediately curling in on himself, clutching his right hand to his chest. The stinging shifted into a deep burning sensation and he rocked slowly back and forth to distract himself as he peered at his surroundings. 

He was in a new clearing this time. One with more moss than grass, a burbling brook nearby, and trees that appeared taller and skinnier than usual. His clothes, lute, and pack were settled against a rock nearby. The maiden from earlier was nowhere in sight, so he took a chance at assessing the wound on his arm. 

There were two neatly made horizontal cuts on his right wrist spaced an inch apart. The cuts had scabbed over and were beginning to heal, but the blood from the wounds had been used to draw interesting patterns on the inside of his arm. Nothing about them looked familiar, even if he racked his brain to think back on all the magical books he had scoured through in Oxenfurt’s library. 

Think, Jaskier, think! Okay… obviously a very not mortal woman had become enamored of him and secreted him away to be her live-in entertainer. The rumble in his stomach let him know he hadn’t eaten since last night. Best to keep it that way if he was entangled in a fey scenario. 

He crawled to the stream and dunked his arm in, scrubbing at the marks. They glowed briefly and disappeared. Oh dear. Not good. Magicky sparkly nonsense, and here he was without his Witcher!

He grabbed the clothes and dressed with all due haste.  _ Out, out, must get moving. All the Gods this is worse than any cuckolded spouse in the past! _

He hopped along as he tugged on his boots and snagged his meager possessions, nearly tripping over a root in his haste to leave the clearing and find some familiar ground. Trees whipped by as he ran and the forest began to shift slightly, more familiar flora coming into view. 

Something cracked behind him and off to his left and he picked up the pace. He was being followed and he knew it. All those years chasing after a brute of a man, only to be hunted down by a slip of a woman. 

A road appeared ahead of him, but before he could reach it, the maiden came into view. 

“Jaskier!” Her voice carried a tone of command to it, and he felt his feet stick to the ground. Nervous sweat beaded at his temples as she stepped up to his side. No longer naked, and no longer as human-looking as before, the very clearly fey woman was now clad in a long green dress, flowers seemed to grow directly from her red hair and sprung from where she stepped. 

“You dare to take my blessings and flee my side?” Power all but radiated from her words as she circled him, hands out to touch but staying just shy of him. 

“My lady...my Laurel! I am but a humble bard. A mortal man who must now get back to his path. I meant you no offense, and I can certainly promise to return… at a later date. This time next year, perhaps? We’ll make a holiday of it, hmm?” Jaskier blustered on, attempting to cajole what may actually be the feminine embodiment of spring herself. He’d really stepped in it this time. 

“I bound your heart, Lark. You’re mine.” She hissed. It was subtle, but Jaskier could swear there was a shift to her features, something angry and almost monstrous lurking beneath her beautiful face. Too many teeth. That might be it. 

Her words started to sink in somewhere in his rational brain. Bound his heart? Gods, but could they do that when it had already bound itself to another? Hmm. That’s a good question.

“Bound my heart?” Don’t smirk, don’t smirk, normal smiles, don’t make her any angrier. “Love is the truest magic of all. You cannot bind a heart that’s already bound itself. And my dear, you are a vision and a true muse, so don’t take this the wrong way, but my heart has long since been lost to another.”

The maiden growled,  _ and there were too many teeth he  _ **_knew_ ** _ it _ , and turned away in a rage, hair flying. She continued to curse in a language he couldn’t begin to understand before spinning back to face him, letting more of her guise of humanity slip, eyes shining orange and teeth bared and sharp.

“You fool! You come to my woods at the start of spring, smelling so sweet and willing. You sing to Me of love and longing, and yet you are promised to another! You shame your elven blood!”

Oh no, what? Eleven blood? Jaskier held up a questioning finger and opened his mouth to ask more about that particular tidbit, but Laurel simply snarled again and his voice caught in his throat. 

“You play at love and know nothing of it.” She narrowed her eyes at him and a sharp pain needled at his temples. The sharpness of her teeth shifted away, but her smile turned cruel. “Oh.” She sauntered up to him and rested her sharp nails against his cheek, slowly dragging them down towards his neck. He winced at the sting.

“The Lark is in love with the Wolf. He’ll eat you alive, little bird. And there won’t even be any bones left to scatter to the wind.” The nails resting against his chin gripped him suddenly, and his head was pulled down to her level. “It was supposed to be a blessing. A gift to keep you by my side.” Her words snaked into his mind and he remembered the suspicious tingle and marks from earlier. “Now it will be your curse.”

The sharp grip left him and she pushed him away, slipping into the shadows. Whatever force was holding him hostage released and he stumbled forward. 

The maiden’s voice echoed menacingly through the trees as he took a hesitant step towards the road. 

“You will live to see all you love turn to ash. Tethered to a world that you will come to loathe. You’ll beg to return to me before the end of the age.”

Jaskier gripped his now bare forearm and took off at a run again, sprinting right past a signpost pointing towards the nearest town. He needed to  _ go _ and with any luck find somewhere to both drink this memory away, and find his Witcher.

Scratched into the wood of that signpost? ... Rinde. 


	2. What are you Hiding?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mini chapter to move plot :D
> 
> <3 Bigger and better update Tomorrow or Thursday. Depends on how manic I get lol.

Jaskier quickly learned some of the limits of his new-found immortality. 

Namely that he can, in fact, be grievously wounded by others and magic. 

Granted, he is still very much alive and singing, thank the gods. Still, something squirmed at the back of his mind as he fled Rinde, Witches, and Witchers. He had come so very close to his demise, at least it had certainly felt like it. His chest ached (though that may be more from emotional trauma than physical assault) as did most of the rest of him. 

His throat felt fine, though the phantom pain and terror of choking on his own blood certainly lingered. Gave him some right awful nightmares to contend with as well, if anyone was keeping track. 

Jaskier continued to catalogue his various aches and pains as he meandered down the road. Alright fine. He hadn’t actually found a limit… he simply had confirmed that he was not immune to what felt like mortal peril. Simple enough to explain away. Not all immortality gigs promised full protection from the trials and tribulations of the dangerous lifestyle he seemed to be attached to. Even if that same dangerous lifestyle didn’t seem to much appreciate the attachment. 

He still felt human, and he still required water and sustenance. Still felt raging jealousy and intense emotions over the whole thing. For all he knew, the wild woman in the woods had oversold the whole ‘bind you to me for all eternity’ thing. Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise and he’d come to thank the funny green lady down the line. A few more years to follow his Witcher? Yes, please. 

Time is a fickle beast, however, and as time continued to pass, Jaskier was realizing that he didn’t age. To top it all off, he continued to run into Her Royal Heinousness on a nearly yearly basis. Between her ability to pop up in places he least wanted to run into her, and his own ability to always emerge unscathed from life or death scenarios, he was not looking forward to the day someone else picked up on it. Especially if that someone was Geralt…

~

The years continued to tick by as Jaskier flowed in and out of Geralt’s life and adventures. They fought, they laughed, and Geralt never suspected Jaskier of being anything other than the slightly feral human Bard he’d come to lo-... to know. 

They were sitting side-by-side at their group campfire up in King Aidern’s mountains, and he kept shifting his gaze slightly to study the bard, Yennefer’s comment ringing in his ears from earlier.  _ Crow’s Feet. The crow’s feet are new...new… _ But he couldn’t see a single wrinkle on the face beside him. The bard looked as he always did. He tried to count back how many years they had known each other, but found himself unable to. It had been at least a decade…probably more... so he should be in his 30s? 40s? When did human bodies start failing? He wasn’t one for focusing much on the passage of time, it only served to remind him of his past. Jaskier was a constant in a life of uncertainties and thinking on the possibility that he would leave him in a very permanent way someday gave him indigestion. The thought that his- _ The  _ bard was hiding something this important from him only intensified it.

For now, it seemed like something he should just try and keep an eye on... 

… Except those eyes now looked out towards the horizon as the bard he’s supposed to care about trudges off without him. The last person to be near him simply because he wanted to. He shook with fear and rage because he knew, deep down, that Jaskier was keeping something from him… just as he knew that he would be better off alone. It was terrifying how much he’d come to need his frilly little human, or just human-looking, companion. It was long past time to put things back into the natural order. He was a hunter. He hunted… went out on the path… earned coin. That was it. That’s his life. It was meant to be done alone and for very good reason.

With the devastated look on Jaskier’s face stuck permanently in his mind, and the stinging words from Yennefer ringing clearly in his ears, Geralt took himself down off that mountain to kill some things, maybe find an inn with a bathtub, and try to figure out why the hell nothing could ever go his way.


	3. Destiny can Suck It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'll be slowing down the updates after this... but not too much. 2 or 3 a week. ;)

It took less time than Geralt thought to work out what the hell he was actually supposed to be doing. Only about two months, give or take. And a handful of semi-serious wounds from a Drowner pack of all things that he wasn’t going to explain to anyone, ever.

And if he wanted to admit it, and he really really didn’t, it was the combination of knowing how harshly he had let Jaskier down along with Yennefer’s scoffing at his inability to actually take responsibility for his own actions and charges that had convinced him of his next steps.

With a heavy sigh, and a roll of his eyes skyward, Geralt set off for Cintra. 

By the time Destiny had ceased to fuck with him so spectacularly for ignoring her so rudely, when he had  _ finally _ decided to be a responsible adult, it had been over a year since he had seen Jaskier or Yen last and they just… wouldn’t stay out of his head. Especially not when Cirilla, Princess Extraordinaire of Picking-Up-On-Geralt’s-Moods, wouldn’t stop reminding him every day or two of her own Destiny laced ties with the pair. Because, of course, that fool of a bard had taken it upon himself to visit the fledgling queen and ingratiate himself into her life. There was no ignoring his own extremely poor past decisions anymore. Ciri simply wouldn’t let him. 

“They’re part of this now, Geralt. I know because I’ve seen them. You’re going to need to apologize and bring them back. I’m worried what might happen to them, left on their own.”   
  
“Yen is a very powerful sorceress… she will be perfectly fine.”

Ciri had given him a very impressive look that screamed Calanthe and he had hung his head and agreed.

First things first though. They needed to make it to Kaer Morhen before the frost settled into the valley. He assured Ciri multiple times that they would look for both of them come spring, but that they needed to get safely away for now. 

Safely away apparently meant tucked up in the Keep for a full year and a half, training Ciri and asking his brothers to keep an ear out for a feral bard and angry sorceress. The Angry Sorceress was easy. She was actively already seeking them out thanks to the bond they shared and her own regular dreams of the Princess. She came to them at the start of the first spring, loitering in Ard Carraigh and causing a ruckus until they came down to fetch her. 

The Bard, however, continued to elude them. Each trip back they returned with no information. War spread and worry ate at Geralt’s tenuous patience. Whittled it away until one day he finally snapped at Yen when she advised at least one more full winter in the keep to hone Ciri’s skills before moving out into the world.

“I refuse to keep sitting here on my arse doing nothing! Ciri can kick Lambert around this whole keep twice with her eyes close. I’m not needed here. I need to get back out there! I need to look-” He cut himself off with a growl and spun on his heel, stalking out onto the nearby balcony. Cirilla was down in the courtyard, meditating in the spring breeze. Her hair was neatly braided and she looked at peace. He leaned on the railing and huffed angrily into the frosty air. Didn’t he also deserve to finally feel that way?

Yen stepped out onto the balcony as well, setting a hand on Geralt’s shoulder. She didn’t have to say much, not when she knew. Knew what was keeping him awake at night. Knew what was haunting him around the corners of the keep...knew whose name he cried at the height of his nightmares. 

“You need to keep it together for that girl down there. For now. When the passes open in the spring, I will personally follow you down and portal you straight to Oxenfurt.”

“You think he’s there?” He tried to keep the hope out of his voice and his head. It would only hurt more if she was wrong. 

“I can’t say for certain, but it’s my best guess. Look… why don’t I scry for him once it gets closer to the end of winter. That way we can know for certain where he is and aren’t taking any chances. I am going to need you back here the following Autumn in top shape to handle the next stages of Ciri’s training. That means rested, mostly uninjured,  _ laid-” _

_ “Yen!” _

“I said what I meant, Geralt.”

He put his face into his hands and groaned. 

“Yes, yes.. Be dramatic and try to ignore your lovely and carnal feelings for your silly bard.”

“I will leave  _ Now _ if that’s how you’re going to talk about the whole thing.”

“Nonsense, it’s freezing. Really, Geralt. Don’t be ridiculous.”

He lifted his head to scowl at her. “ _ I’m _ ridiculous? Pot…” he pointed at himself and then shifted his finger towards her, “kettle.”

Yennefer simply smirked at him and came to rest by him to watch Ciri. “Whatever you say, dear. Regardless… try and keep the pining to a minimum until the paths clear. We will do what we can for you then.”

Geralt sighed and leaned his shoulder against hers. They weren’t intimate anymore, hadn’t wanted to open that particularly nasty barrel back up, but she was the closest thing he had to a best friend right now and he would take what he could. “Thank you, Yen. I’ll… try.”

She smiled at him and returned the gentle nudge. They went back to keep a careful watch over the princess...their ward… their family. 


End file.
